The Great Ones
Ae morn aside the road frae Bray
I wrocht my squad to mend the track;
A feck o’ sodgers passed that way
And garred me often straucht my back.
By cam a General on a horse,
A jinglin’ lad on either side.
I gie’d my best salute of course,
Well pleased to see sic honest pride.
And syne twae Frenchmen in a cawr—
Yon are the lads to speel the braes;
They speldered me inch-deep wi’ glaur
And verra near ran ower my taes.
And last the pipes, and at their tail
Oor gaucy lads in martial line.
I stopped my wark and cried them hail,
And wished them weel for auld lang syne.
······
An auld chap plooin’ on the muir
Ne’er jee’d his heid nor held his han’,
But drave his furrow straucht and fair,—
Thinks I, “But ye’re the biggest man.”
1916